


The One with the Sweater

by dapatty, kellifer_fic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Collaboration, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Party Favor, Podfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7890643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Sweater

  


Download: [mp3](http://dapatty.parakaproductions.com/2016/The%20One%20With%20the%20Sweater.mp3)  


It's not really a big deal at the time.

Derek comes down from upstairs and Stiles watches him from his position on the couch, head slung over the arm so Derek looks like he's walking on the ceiling. "Dude, you know you're allowed to use the door now."

Derek grunts, dismissive as always about doing things the normal way and then holds something up and says, "Did you really make this for me?"

Stiles has to flip over so he can see what Derek is holding because it looks like a misshapen greenish lump while his head is hanging upside down and no, _oh no_.

Derek is holding in his hands Stiles' one single, solitary, disastrous attempt at knitting a sweater.

"Why would you think that?" Stiles asks slowly, because Derek can't think that Stiles hates him that much.

"It had a post-it with my name on it."

"It..." Stiles squints and can see that Derek has the post-it in question stuck to his thumb. Stiles remembers that post-it because it was the one he'd stuck to the book of Russian spells he'd been meaning to ask Derek about and then had promptly lost in the piles of debris that was his bedroom floor. He then remembers his dad saying something about attempting to tidy up Stiles' room the day before because the mess had started migrating out into the hallway and Stiles had found out when stumbling to bed last night that _tidying up_ had just been code for _kicking stuff back into Stiles' room_ and somehow the horrible attempt at a sweater and the post-it from the book that was still lost had ended up being attached to each other and on top of the mess.

"Yes?" Stiles finally decides on, because it seems the easiest thing to do. He figures it'll be like every time his Babcia gives him an ugly sweater. Derek will pretend to like it and then hide it in the back of his closet and Stiles will never have to see the physical embodiment of his failure ever again.

"Thanks," Derek grunts, balling the sweater up and tucking it under his arm and Stiles figures that's about right, that's the treatment it deserves.

"Did you actually need something or were you just practicing your B&E skills?" Stiles asks.

"Deaton mentioned something about you starting to work on border wards," Derek says and that's the end of the sweater subject, or so Stiles thinks.

*

He doesn't give it another thought until the pack meeting the next Sunday. They're at the loft and Derek's sitting in his pretentious corner armchair he'd gotten from eBay so Stiles can be forgiven for not noticing at first. Derek, because he's basically the living embodiment of a pretentious corner, had set the armchair up so it was at the perfect spot for him to be in shadow but still have enough light to read by which Stiles doesn't think should be possible and suspects witchcraft of some kind.

No one else is allowed to sit in Derek's armchair, not even Scott when he tries to pull the true Alpha card which was, admittedly, a pretty hilarious conversation to overhear about three weeks ago.

Lydia and Allison are curled up on the couch, overlapping knees and under the warmest blanket so Stiles feels it's only right to obnoxiously insinuate himself between them. He knows he's made progress with them both because he only gets a tolerant snort from Lydia and Allison ruffling his hair and resettling the blanket so she and Lydia are still almost completely covered and he's really not which, again, _witchcraft_.

His friends are holding out on him.

Derek mostly ignores them all until Scott and Isaac tumble in, jostling each other and with wind-burned cheeks, returning to normal almost as soon as they hit warm air. Stiles will admit he's a little jealous because sometimes he looks like he belongs on some English period drama with how ruddy his face gets when he's in the cold. Boyd and Erica arrive last and take the double cow print beanbag chair that Stiles and Scott got Derek as a joke housewarming present and turned out to be everyone's favorite spot for movie watching.

Stiles is surprised Derek hasn't gotten rid of it considering the number of fights he's had to break up over it, but Stiles caught Derek napping in it once so there is that.

Derek very carefully marks his place in the book he's reading with his Legolas bookmark which was another joke gift which Derek ruined by unashamedly using, _god_ , and stands up to offer everyone tea because Derek might be a grump, but he's also secretly a good host and an old man.

"What are you wearing?" Isaac asks, attention momentarily diverted from trying to edge his way onto the beanbag chair without dislodging anyone else even though they all know from bitter experience that it's not possible.

"What?" Derek says and looks down at himself and everyone else does too.

He's wearing _the sweater_.

It's even more of an obvious travesty when on someone's body. One sleeve is too short, exposing one of Derek's vulnerable wrists and the other is so long he's got the end curled over his knuckles. The color is _worse_ than Stiles remembers and Derek usually looks awesome in green. There's something about this particular shade that reminds Stiles of that time Isaac tried to brew his own Wolfsbane moonshine and had made Stiles take a single experimental sip, resulting in about three hours of spectacular regurgitation of everything Stiles had eaten in his entire life. Stiles had been left wishing fervently for death, unsure whether his or Isaac's. There's a large hole under one of the sleeves where Stiles snagged the green monstrosity on a doorknob while carting it from the living room to his bedroom and the hem doesn't so much end as drunkenly meander to a halt, lopsided and trailing threads.

"It was a gift," Derek adds.

"From who? Someone without any taste whatsoever obviously," Isaac says and then his head swivels and his eyes lock on Stiles and he lets out an obnoxious, "Ha!"

"Isaac," Scott groans, smacking a hand over his face.

"It's handmade," Derek grits out, starting to look really pissed now and Stiles doesn't, for the life of him, know why Derek is defending the horrible thing.

Isaac's attention is still on Stiles. "Were you tortured? Did someone hold a gun to your head until you created the ugliest piece of clothing in existence?"

"I didn't think he'd actually _wear_ it," Stiles snaps and Derek's murderous gaze swings from Isaac to him and he blinks.

"What?"

"It's, y'know," Stiles says, flailing his hands and now everyone's watching him, all with something different on their faces, but Stiles can only see Derek, see how his expression is collapsing.

"It was a gift," Derek repeats, but something uncertain is now threaded through his voice. "Why wouldn't I wear it?"

"It... wasn't really?" Stiles says, wincing. "I made that scarf for dad and he really liked it so I thought I was a natural at knitting or something, like a savant or it was genetic memory from my mom and so I tried a sweater next and it was _really bad_. I had forgotten about it mostly but then you thought it was for you and I thought you were pretending to like it like everything else I give you just to annoy me."

"Pretending...?" Derek says on an exhale and then he's stripping off the sweater in a couple of annoyed yanks and tossing it at Stiles. "Fine, right, you got me. Hilarious, Stiles," he says and then he's stomping up the loft's spiral stair case and he's gone.

"What just happened?" Stiles asks, more than a little thrown. He's so distracted by his bewilderment that he can't even enjoy it when Lydia gets up from the couch, crosses the room and kicks Isaac in the shin.

"Ow, hey! What did _I_ do?" he grumps.

Just then, everyone is distracted by the loud clatter of a box tumbling down the stairs, end over end. When it lands at the bottom, it spills its contents across the floor and Stiles gets up to see a number of items he recognizes.

It's basically every stupid little thing he's given Derek.

"Out, now, everyone," Allison orders, getting up and making big, expansive, shooing motions with her arms. When Stiles stands and makes for the door like everyone else, Allison snags his sleeve and tugs him back, propelling him back towards the stairs. "Nu-uh. Not you," she says.

"What? Why would I-?"

"Isaac's being a jerk on purpose but-"

"Hey!" Stiles hears Isaac protest from outside and then a thump that he really hopes is Lydia hitting him again.

"But, it's not any better than being an oblivious one. Go fix it."

"What makes you think I can?" Stiles implores and Allison rolls her eyes.

"Don't be dense," she says, flicking Stiles on the forehead and then tugging the loft door closed behind herself so Stiles is left alone.

After hesitating for a few moments in indecision, he crosses back over to the box and crouches down, pawing through the spilled contents. He comes up with the My Little Pony with the drawn-on thick eyebrows and the birthday card that had a cartoon llama on it wearing a scarf with _Close Knit_ scrawled across the top. He sets these aside, tips the box back upright and then puts them carefully inside, along with the Legolas bookmark, the Black Widow action figure he'd gotten Derek at Comicon with a smirky _you guys have a powerful thigh thing in common_ , the map of ley lines he'd been half working on before abandoning when Jackson connected a few of the lines to make a wobbly penis drawing and a few other random bits of paper that had things like the Hangman game he'd been playing with Scott during one pack meeting that had the solution _Derek is more hung than this guy_ that Scott hadn't agreed was as hilarious as Stiles had when he'd thought of it.

Along with these items was a pair of Nightmare Before Christmas socks Stiles had kicked off while napping on Derek's couch and then couldn't find later, one of his Lacrosse jerseys he'd stuck in Derek's wash and promptly forgot about and a pair of Wonder Woman boxer shorts that had been last year's Secret Santa gift to Derek. He'd had to trade with Erica to get Derek because he'd bought the underwear a few months before but he'd had Boyd originally so she'd only been too happy to swap.

Stiles flips the lid closed on the box, stands up with it, takes a girding breath and then trudges upstairs.

*

"Derek?" Stiles calls, warning Derek of his approach even though Derek would be able to track his every movement in the loft.

It's only polite.

There's a muffled _go away_ from the vicinity of the bed but Stiles can't see Derek from his spot in the doorway. There's a massive pile of clothes on Derek's bed that makes it look like Derek has hauled everything out of this closet just to have enough to crawl underneath. Stiles didn't even know Derek owned enough clothes to hide under, he was always wearing the same damn green Henley Stiles had told him looked nice...

_Oh._

Oh, okay.

It hits Stiles all of a sudden that he had a very similar box to the one he's holding in his hands, probably still has it buried underneath his bed somewhere amongst the dust bunnies and questionably crunchy sports socks. His box had been dedicated to someone he had a crush on and really, could this really be what was going on?

How could he have missed this?

"Very easily," Stiles says to the lump of clothes and presumably Derek. "I could very easily miss this because it's _not possible_."

There's movement from the lump and then, "What are you talking about?"

Stiles grimaces, because Scott is always telling him he's gotta stop doing that, start a conversation mentally that he finishes out loud because everyone has enough trouble keeping up with his brain, which is the weirdly nicest compliment he's ever gotten.

"I was just wondering how I could have missed the fact that you have a giant crush on me," Stiles says and the lump very obviously twitches.

"Do... not," the lump says, not very convincingly.

"It's okay, I understand," Stiles says and when the lump snorts, he corrects, "I mean, I _don't_ considering, what did Isaac call me? The human embodiment of a chia pet that never shuts up?"

"You haven't looked like a chia pet in a while," the lump offers charitably and it's Stiles' turn to snort.

"Thanks for that. Can you come out so I can stop talking to your clothes?"

There's a very obvious moment's hesitation and then the lump shifts and Derek's head appears in the middle, a stripey sock balanced rakishly on his head. Stiles really wishes he had his phone right now to take a picture but he can imagine that would lead to re-lumping.

"Can you blame me for being embarrassed?"

"For the subject of your crush being me? No, not at all," Stiles says.

"Not about that," Derek grumbles, pushing further out of the pile and then kind of just star-fishing backwards so he's flat on his back, eyes on the ceiling. "I thought you _knew_. I thought we were just, y'know, taking things slow."

"How would I know?" Stiles scoffs and Derek must take it the wrong way because he curls away from Stiles, the line of his back miserable and Stiles sighs. "C'mon," he says, kneeing onto the bed and then leaning across it so he can tug Derek's shoulder. "I just meant because you're you and I'm me."

Derek turns to look over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Stiles raises up so he can flail a hand to encompass Derek's entire being and then one to sweep down himself. "You're _you_ and I'm _me_."

"Despite what you may think, the emphatic gesturing does not make the same words any clearer," Derek says, turning back over and sitting up.

Stiles points a finger at Derek, so close Derek goes a little cross-eyed looking at it. "Super supreme werewolf hotness," Stiles says and then jerks a thumb at his own chest. "Not... any of that."

"Don't be dense," Derek says.

"That's just what Allison said to me. No fair if you guys are colluding on insults now."

"I like that you're not any of that," Derek says.

Stiles chews on his lip for a moment. "Uh, thanks?"

"Oh my god, don't pull that face. I mean, you're... " Derek looks physically pained when he has to say the word, "Hot."

"Don't hurt yourself trying to compliment me there, big guy," Stiles scoffs.

"You're infuriating and a trouble magnet and you intentionally put yourself in harm's way, even when it's not necessary," Derek adds. "You're daunting and juvenile and sweet and loyal and the most annoying person I've ever met in my life."

"There were some nice things in there somewhere, I think. It was a little hard to hear them over all the negatives though."

"Your negatives are positives which is probably the most annoying thing of all," Derek growls and Stiles sits back on his heels and blinks at him.

"Woah, you have it bad."

"I also apparently have it unrequited," Derek says.

"Who said that?"

"Stiles, I thought we were already in a relationship."

"Without having an actual conversation about it?"

"Do you ever have a conversation before you decide anything?"

"Putting my dad on a low sodium diet? That was a _conversation_ , I can assure you."

"Well, apparently it was all in my head so if you'll just excuse me so I can get on with being mortified," Derek says, waving a dismissive hand and starting to pull clothes back over himself.

"Hang on, hang on," Stiles says, pushing the tide of clothing backward again. "Would you give me a minute to get back on the same page? Just, how long have we been dating, exactly?"

Derek mumbles something into a hoodie he's covered his face with and Stiles plucks it off.

"What was that?"

"I said, six months," Derek says, sounding aggrieved.

"Six months?" Stiles splutters, aghast. "We've been dating _six months_?"

"No, we haven't. That's the point right?"

"Oh my god, oh my god," Stiles says, starting to shove all of Derek's clothing onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, sounding amused despite himself.

"I'm... there's... stuff and things I want to... we could have been... _six months of_ -"

"Stiles, just stop, breathe for a second. You're starting to worry me."

Stiles grips Derek's shoulders and would shake him if Derek weren't such a solid lump of muscle and wolf strength. "I could have been touching your butt for six months!"

"Just my butt?" Derek asks, sounding equally dubious and confused.

"Yes, but no, but, all of it. I'm allowed to touch all of it, right?"

"All of my butt?"

"All of _you_! There's been six months where I could have been touching _all of you_."

"Yes, but, we don't have to do anything right now," Derek says, arresting Stiles' hands and holding them still.

"Um, okay, but we can, in the future?"

"Yes? I was already on board in case you didn't get the memo," Derek says through a laugh.

"Okay, good, just checking."

"To be honest, I liked the whole taking it slow thing," Derek says, eyes down. "I mean, my last couple of relationships..." Derek puts his hands together and then mimes a slow-motion explosion. Stiles is infinitely charmed.

"Well, I would say it was more glacial than slow so maybe we can move just a _little_ faster," Stiles offers and Derek smiles, the kind that makes his whole face lift up and Stiles will never get tired of.

"Sounds good," Derek agrees and reaches out to take Stiles' chin so he can tug his face forward and into a kiss. Stiles follows and it's nice, it is so, so nice.

"Wait," Stiles says, jerking back with a sudden, horrible thought. Derek's happy eyes start to shutter but Stiles shakes his head quickly. "No, not you wait, just in general, does everyone know about this? Am I ever going to live this down?"

"Well, considering Scott already gave me the shovel talk, I'd say you're screwed," Derek says.

"The shovel talk?"

"Y'know, if you hurt Stiles then I'll tell his dad and he'll get a shovel to brain me with," Derek says, doing a fair impression of Scott's earnest face.

"He wouldn't brain you himself?" Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow.

"He's a realist and he knows your dad is much more terrifying that him."

"Very smart," Stiles says after giving it a moment's thought and then launching himself at Derek, sending them both tumbling off the bed.

Luckily there's a large pile of clothing on the floor to break their fall.


End file.
